


What is Love?

by aliey242



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Multi, Narrator-centric, POV First Person, Unrequited Love, cliches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 15:30:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12510492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliey242/pseuds/aliey242
Summary: Sometimes, love is everything you want it to be.Sometimes it's not.





	What is Love?

**Author's Note:**

> I don't expect many to read this, but I thought I'd share. Don't know how good it turned out though, but please enjoy.
> 
> Leave a comment if you want, I'd love to hear your opinions.

It had been in the fall of our sophomore year in college when she asked me the question. We had been sitting, for the little free time we had on a Tuesday in between classes, watching the variety of sports taking place in the open field that was surrounded by dorms and school buildings. The sun was shining, and the wind gave off the first chills of the fall, signifying that summer had come to an end. It wasn’t cold enough to wear a jacket, but the slightly brisk breeze was enough to influence the thoughts of starting to wear one. 

“What is love?” Calla asked. Her voice was soft and warm. I looked up from the lunch I had laid out before me, my sandwich momentarily forgotten. The question surprised me, for the year that I had known her; we had never really talked about such things. Maybe that was because of me, I had too much to say and too much I couldn’t on the subject. I had found the solution to be to not talk of it at all. When I looked up at her though, she had not been looking at me, but had continued to look upon the field before us. I gave myself a moment to stare, to watch the way the breeze blew her hair slightly in front of her eyes before she absentmindedly brushed it away. I watched the way her eyebrows furrowed when she slightly frowned at the chill of the breeze. 

I gave myself a moment to count the answers I could give but wouldn’t.

“I don’t know, I’ve never been in it.” I said, but that was a lie. It was a lie that slipped out with the hopes of it being true, with the hopes that maybe if I said it enough, it would become true. But in reality I had too many answers for Calla, ones that I couldn’t say. Not now, not ever. Not when the question wasn’t directed towards me for answering. Not when the soft whisper of her words fell into the air as she watched another boy walk across field. 

Not when she was in love with someone else.

This didn’t stop me from having an answer, that if given the permission, given the chance, I would say without hesitation.

But I had hesitated a long time ago, and now it was too late. It was too late to say the words that I felt at the back of my throat, choking me. So instead of saying what I had wanted to for year, I swallowed my words and settled for watching her. It was enough to be with her like this; it was enough to keep me happy. And that’s all I could do, watch. I watched the way she smiled to herself when the boy had looked in her direction, watched the way her cheeks slowly tinted pink until it was questionable if it had been the wind or shyness making her blush, watched the way her eyes shined, the sun making them look like warm honey. 

She was beautiful.

As I gazed at her the answer was clear, silent, secret, and if she had in that moment looked towards me, I was sure she would’ve seen it. When she was like this, ethereal by nature, I knew the answer. 

  _Love is you._

■■■■■■■■■■

It all started when we met in freshmen year.

College life was much different than what people say. It’s not that the adults and teachers gave you wrong information, but nothing they could say would prepare you well enough for the adaption. Life was different. You were cast out on your own, and in my case, 100 miles away from home with no familiar faces in the 100 mile radius. I was alone, for the first time in my life. Not the alone where your parents go out to dinner and you have to fend for yourself, but truly alone. If I needed help, I had no one of trust that could immediately be there at my aid. I was on my own. 

Deep down this scared me, but it was exhilarating at the same time. It was the sense of independence, being free. Knowing my choices now were my own and the consequence were also mine to take. The responsibility of my own life, now my parents could not get me out of any trouble I stumbled into; I had to do that myself. 

It was the day classes had started, and walking around the campus to see so many unfamiliar faces, it finally hit me. It seemed as though I was in the beginning of a new life, like I was starting over. I was alone, and the thought of starting again, and making new friends scared me. I was never truly good at the whole beginning phase of social interactions, the anxiety of not knowing what to say or ask was more stress than I normally tolerated. I found it easier to be sociable once I was already close with someone, but that’s where a problem arose. To get that point, I had to struggle through stuttering, nervous fidgeting and awkward hand gestures that led me to cringe later in embarrassment and self-loathing. Needless to say, walking into a class where people were already chatting and were already friends with one another was not my most favorite moment.

Looking around the lecture hall, I immediately began walking to a row that had empty seats on the end. As I sat down, and began to get my note book out of my bag, more students started to file into the lecture hall, a minute before class would begin. I decided to not look up, to rather avoid the unnecessary mess I would make of myself if I was selected by a classmate to talk to and forcibly thrown into a group conversation of what major I was and why I took this class. 

I continued to busy myself with pretending like I was organizing my stuff and preparing to take notes. I was so busy trying to put on this act of unapproachability that I did not hear a person trying to get my attention until they tapped the movable table attached to my seat. I sat up straight, startled as I looked up to the person who’s hand it belong to, only to find a girl looking right back down at me.

I was struck with a slight sense of panic, because the girl in front of me was beautiful.

“Excuse me, may I get through?” was all she said, a polite tone, head tilted slightly in question. I opened my mouth to say something, but instead I felt the words die in my throat, so I just shifted to give her space to pass. She mumbled thanks, before passing and as if she wanted to make me more panicked, sat right next to me. It probably wasn’t appropriate, but I stared at her with wide eyes, mouth slightly opened in both parts of slight confusion and incredulous. The whole middle was relatively empty, and she picked the seat next to me to sit in. 

She paid no attention to me. She instead focused on getting out her own materials as the professor made his entrance into the classroom.

And so we sat in relative silence as the class began.

Not long after the class started, she began to make comments under her breath, rather sarcastic or just thoughts to herself as she took notes. Some were rather amusing, and I felt the corners of my mouth begin to turn upwards at the most witty ones. 

My panic had ceased, and for some reason, was replaced with a sense of comfort and calm. For sitting next to a total stranger, I had the illusion that we were somewhat intimate by the way her comments weren’t purposely kept to herself, and loud enough for me to hear whether intentional or not. 

It was half way into the lecture that I surprised myself by quietly responding to her comments. She however, did not seem surprised; just let her eyes flicker over to me before looking back at the professor as she made another comment. It was casual, simplistic, verging on friendly. I found myself started to let those suppressed smiles not be as hidden. 

Something about her made me feel as though I didn’t have to be anxious of what to say, as it seemed all to be in passing and nothing at all. But at the same time it felt like something. It felt like the beginning of something when I would glance over to see her quirk the corner of her mouth into a small smile when I muttered a comment that was relatively amusing. It felt like the beginning of something when I felt a small sense of pride when I did make her end up smiling, stifling a laugh at a sarcastic remark. 

I felt as though maybe, with this girl, I didn’t have to worry about making a fool of myself when trying to talk for the first time. For some reason, the conversation was calm, quiet, personal, and I felt like I could be myself without the fear of spouting out wrong words and jumbled sentences. 

By the end of the lecture we were both talking more than we were taking notes, and maybe it would give the professor a bad impression of us if he singled us out from the approximate hundred in the class, but I didn’t seem to care. It felt good, not feeling alone for once at college, having someone to talk to, even if it was only for a class period. I savored the moment, because the chance of this girl sitting here again and talking to me, I thought would be slim. I savored the thought of having a familiar face on campus.

When class ended, I quickly packed my bag, about to leave to get some food before I would have to go to my next class. As I exited the row, the beautiful girl tried to get my attention.

“Hey!” She called out, at first I wasn’t entirely sure who she was speaking to, so I looked over my shoulder in curiosity, only to find her looking directly at me. For a moment I was confused, thinking that the class had been just simple small talk, nothing more than just the desire to talk to someone. Even if that thought brought a subtle feeling of disappointment, to a hope of something more that I refused to acknowledge. 

The moment of confusion was quickly left behind when she stuck her hand out in a formal greeting, one I would have laughed at because it seemed old fashioned.

“So we just spent the entire lecturing talking instead of writing, and even so, I never got your name.” She said, tilting her head as her eyes light up in slight amusement. For a second I appreciated their color, a warm hazel. 

With that inquiry I did end up a little startled, stuttering out an apology that was not necessary as I offered my name, but she took it in stride with a small laugh as we shook hands. The sound of her laugh, I seemed to already be memorizing without my conscious approval, but I couldn’t bring myself to care when the sound made something flutter in my stomach and tighten in my chest.

“Well, I’m Calla, and I was hoping that maybe you’d want to join me for lunch?” she asked casually, and for the first time looking slightly nervous. The question made me smile, as a happiness filled me along with the thought that maybe I hadn’t been the only one who was hoping those small trades in comments would grow to something more.

“Yeah, I mean, sure. I was just about to get lunch myself.” I replied slightly tripping in my words as they rushed out of my mouth. It was probably evident, my happiness and slight relief, even if I had tried to play it off coolly, but she didn’t seem to mind if she noticed.

Instead I was responded too not with words but a bright smile. Not the little small quirks of her lips that she gave me before, but one with teeth and gums showing, lips stretched wide and crinkles forming by her eyes. The sight of it made my heart skip a beat, and created a thought of how I wanted to see that smile again. It was a smile that was sincere and pure. It was a smile that was contagious, as I found myself smiling back. I also found a new sense of warmth in my chest, unlike the appeased and flattered feelings of before, but a warmth that seemed like a spark; as if her smile set alight something inside me.

And for a moment, as we walked out of the lecture hall, everything seemed just a little brighter.

  _Love is warmth._

■■■■■■■■■■

By the middle of freshmen year Calla and I had become fast friends, and it was no longer a surprise when she would sit next to me in the only class we shared. We became closer through the class, talking and now helping each other through it as we went. We also, as it now without saying became routine, would have lunch together after class where we would bring our lunches to the open field on campus to eat and go over the homework we were assigned. Slowly, in this budding friendship we began to know each other.

A couple weeks after the first day of class I had found out at lunch that Calla was on the dance team at our college. She told me about how it was a hobby of hers since she had been little, and was too stubborn to give it up even with stress of classes. She confessed to me that it was her outlet, and modestly claimed she was not as talented as the others on the team. I didn’t believe her, and challenged her statement. For the dance team you had to audition, so she had to be good enough to have been accepted.

This turned into a minor debate, with her claiming she wasn’t very talented, and with me saying otherwise though I had no proof to back my statement up. She pointed this out to me.

“Well I guess I’ll just have to see it for myself then.” I stated firmly, setting down my sandwich to look at her with seriousness. She let out a huff of exasperation as my stubbornness.

“Well, we do have a showcase before winter break. You can come watch if you’d like.” She offered, smiling at me as her eyes showed her amusement. It was the first plan we made to hang out besides lunch and group study sessions, and I couldn’t say the thought didn’t make me happy.

“I will, and I know you’ll do great.” I confirmed. With that, she smiled and we continued eating, before conversation picked back up in which we complained about the project we were assigned in class.

When it came time for the winter showcase, Calla was less available for lunch, choosing to go practice instead which I didn’t mind. She seemed more nervous and stressed, but she didn’t voice any of this to me so I didn’t bring it up with her. I opted to let her focus, having faith that she was worrying for nothing and she would give an amazing performance.

The showcase seemed to be a popular event on campus; it was where all the art majors were able to perform for parents and students alike, showing off their skills for an evaluation grade in their class. The dance team also performed, along with acapella and choir groups, all those who loved music were able to perform if they chose. They crowd was lively, and I managed to grab a seat near the middle front, wanting the best view for when Calla performed. It seemed, from the conversations I overheard and the loud buzz of excitement from the crowd, the dance team was a favorite in the showcase. I only grew in anticipation.

When the dance team came out, the crowd fell silent. They were the opening act, and would set the energy for the event. The dancers got in position, and my eyes locked in on Calla who was not smiling but had a look of determination on her face. When the music started, I figured it would be a hip hop routine, the beat started as a slow pulse, but escalated into a fast tempo in which the dances performed a series of complex moves and stunts. Calla was near the front of the formations, and my eyes seemed to only focus on her until she was the only one I saw.

Her body moved perfectly to the beat, every move flawless and fluid. She showed power in every move, strong bursts of motion only to halt with control. Her expression was what caught my attention most. Calla was no longer the nervous, stressed girl I had seen the week before. As she performed each move with precision, she was confident. Her eyes fixed in a hard stare that seemed to gaze into the hearts of the audience. Her eyes shown with a taunt, as she challenged the audience to try and compete with her. She wore a smirk, cocky and confident that fit with the music. 

She looked like she owned the stage and the crowd itself.

I found myself staring, wide eyed and mouth gaping in awe at the transformation of the soft sweet girl I had known. In this moment I had never seen something more beautiful than Calla, in the way she resonated and had every eye fall onto her. She was glowing and it took my breath away.

The rest of the performances were great, but maybe I was biased because all I could do was compare them to the performance of the dance team, and to Calla. Nothing seemed to compare, but I enjoyed them anyways.

The showcase ended, and as the crowd began to disperse I made my way backstage to find Calla and congratulate her. Before I could do that, she found me instead.

“Hey!” she greeted as she ran towards me, immediately gathering me into a hug which I returned.

“I was right you know. You were amazing.” I complimented as she pulled away. The smile I had grown to love made its way onto her face, before she ducked her head in embarrassment. She was absolutely glowing, and I couldn’t help but stare at her in amazement. 

For a brief moment I wondered what her lips would taste like. Would they be like the strawberries she ate every lunch, claiming to want to eat healthy but more so because of how much sweeter they tasted when she added sugar. Would they taste like peppermint flavored gum, the type she always chewed during a test because she felt more focused and it helped calm her nerves. Or would they taste like the cream and sugar diluted coffee that she had on cold mornings or when she had stayed up too late the night before. 

I wondered what it’d be like to kiss her.

It was the first time I had thought something like that, and it made me nervous. I didn’t know what to make of it, but all I knew is that I would keep the thought quietly to myself.

When Calla raised her head back up to look at me, that smile still on her face and eyes shining with the happiness and exhilaration of doing what she loved, I realized what this warmth in my chest meant. I knew why looking at her now made me speechless, like she had taken the breath out of my lungs.

I was falling in love, and I had no way of stopping.

  _Love is breathless._

■■■■■■■■■■

As I fell in love, I found out shortly I wasn’t the only one falling.

A boy on Calla’s dance team had caught her eyes in the beginning of freshmen year, which she never told me about because I didn’t ask, and she didn’t want to tell. Only too late did I see the signs that she was falling and I couldn’t stop her.

Maybe if I had said something the day of the showcase, she would have fallen for me instead. But I was too much of a coward to say my own feelings to her, not wanting to risk jeopardizing the first friendship I had made at college. So instead, for the rest of freshmen year, I watched her fall for someone else because I was too afraid to say my own feelings.

When sophomore year came around, our friendship remained the same, and I now had begun the habit of lying to her and myself. I told myself that it was enough being her friend, that seeing her happy was all that mattered. I soon convinced myself of this, believing it to be true. Maybe it wasn’t such a healthy thing, but it seemed better than hurting her and hurting our friendship. Now that she was in love with another boy, if I voiced my own feelings, rejection would surely follow and our friendship would end. I had no intention for those things to happen, so I did what I could to avoid situations in which I would find myself wanting to confess.

Calla invited me out one weekend, claiming a ‘night out of the town’, which I didn’t understand because we were not in a town but on a campus. She said it was no different. I agreed to go, as it had been a while since we had hung out outside of our usual lunches together. Her opting to go dance and to, what I told myself wasn’t true, talk with the boy. I tried not to think about that a lot, ignorance is bliss and all those fancy quotes, instead I let myself go along with her on this night out.

She ended up taking me to a baseball field late at night, for reasons I don’t know other than she claimed it to be fun. At first, I was uneasy, but when her face lit up in that bright smile, I couldn’t help falling into a state of comfort again like I always did around her.

For the night, she had brought along flashlights and an old radio that occasionally crackled with static. For a time, we sat gazing up at the stars, lying on a blanket that she also brought with us.

After a while, Calla got up. Looking at me, her eyes twinkled with mischief and a wicked grin came onto her face.

“Dance with me!” She said in an airy voice, as if too excited from the idea. Before I could even reject or complain about the ridiculousness of the idea, she had grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet. The protests died in my throat instantly as she began to dance around me in an odd fashion of ridiculous moves to make me laugh. So I obliged.

I was no good of a dancer like her, but as we held our flashlights, we danced and ran around the baseball field, laughing and smiling. Under the starry sky I felt content. It felt like we were on top of the world and like the night would never end.

For a moment, I almost forgot that I wasn’t the person she was in love with.

By sophomore year I learned how to say nothing. I got good at it. I said nothing through my words, only empty breaths of air with the facade of meaning and significance fell from my lips. I learned to say empty phrases, and instead put what I truly wanted to say into actions. Because everything I wanted to say, I couldn’t, and if it wasn’t put into words for it to be said out loud, for her to finally hear, then it didn’t fully exist. I could deny the truth of it all, because I never said the words out loud, and I was excused from the action of having to take them back.

I said I’m happy through my laughter at her bad jokes and puns that she thought were so clever. I said you’re perfect with each bump of shoulders when we joked around while walking to class. I said what ever makes you happy with every shrug of my shoulder. I said I care about you with every time I showed up with her favorite take out after a long day. I said I worry about you every time I placed a protective hand on her shoulder when she was struggling with something on her mind that she wouldn’t say out loud. I said I love you with every smile I gave her when she wasn’t looking. I said don’t go with every time I clenched my hand into a fist to keep from reaching out for her as she began to leave after we spent hours together.

And right now, as we danced in the field at ungodly hours in the morning with our shadows mingling and morphing with the minimum light of the flashlights we kept in hand, I said I want to stay with you forever in the way my heart hammered in my chest, and I looked at her as though she was world and everything that was beautiful and precious in it.

    _Love is endless._

■■■■■■■■■■

   Everything fell apart in junior year.

I tried, man I really did, to convince myself that I would be alright when it happened. That I knew it would happen, that it was inevitable so I just needed to prepare myself. But nothing could have prepared me for what I felt.

I wasn’t prepared to see her. I wasn’t ready to see her with that boy she fell in love with, finally together.

The first time I saw them, they were in the open field, where I would sit with Calla. This time, it wasn’t me sitting there. It wasn’t me kissing her.

Maybe that was what hurt the most, to have been replaced, to see her with another boy on our spot on the field. It was a place that I had deemed special, holding memories of her and I together over the past three years. A place just for us. Now that was tainted, and maybe it wasn’t as special as I thought, maybe I had been the only one to think that.

But that’s not what truly hurt me, and I knew that. It was the fact that it wasn’t me. She didn’t choose me. Not that she would have, it would never have been me. That was my own fault, it was my own fault she wasn’t aware of the feelings I had inside for her.

Seeing them together, it felt like the world stopped.

I let out a bitter laugh, because this wasn’t the situation I wanted to feel that in. I wanted to have the world stop when I kissed her, not when I watched her kiss someone else.

It hurt, man did it hurt. I was struck with a cold stab in the heart, I felt my chest tighten and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was overwhelmed with sadness, grief, anger. Because it wasn’t me. It wasn’t going to be me, and somehow I had kept a slight hope that it might’ve been me in the end. The hope was now killed, brutally murdered by the cold reality I saw before me.

I somehow made it back to my dorm, clutching my chest and trying to breathe on the way. Tears were in my eyes that I blinked away, muttering to myself to stop and calm down. But as soon as I closed the door, I fell against in and slid to the ground. Something broke then within me, and the tears began to fall.

I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop the pain I felt, couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t stop the anger I felt against myself, her, and the boy. I couldn’t stop blaming myself, couldn’t stop thinking that if I said something, maybe things would be different. I couldn’t stop myself from remembering the image of her kissing that boy, in the place I thought had been special.

I just wanted to stop all together.

It was a sadness that felt like dying. I felt trapped, suffocated, like my heart would explode all at the same time. Even as I shakily told myself it was okay, to just breathe, I couldn’t stop the cracking and breaking of my voice as the words turned into muffled sobs. I couldn’t control anything, and I just wanted to be okay, to stop crying, and to stop hurting. I just wanted it all to stop, that I wished I never felt it, and maybe deep down I wished I never fell in love in the first place. This was what heartbreak felt like.

Everything hurt, and everything felt wrong. I sat there for hours, in the dark with tears sliding down my face and nail marks and cuts in the palm of my hands from clenching my fists to tight. I sat there until it all stopped hurting, until my eyes dried, breath calmed, and my blood ran cold. I sat there until I felt nothing but empty, until I didn’t feel like my heart had been ripped out of my chest.

The next day Calla called me to meet her at the place I now couldn’t think of as special. I found her already there, with the boy who I couldn’t look at without having a bitter taste in my mouth. She told me, for the first time in the three years I’ve known her, that this was the boy she was in love with.

I just felt numb.

  _Love is pain._

■■■■■■■■■■ 

Things changed, though it wasn’t said out loud, things did start to change. Over the course of junior year and senior year, Calla and I slowly drifted apart. Not that we still didn’t meet up every Tuesday for lunch, but besides that, I didn’t see or talk to her much. I was trying to heal, or at least make it hurt a little less when I saw the two of them together. Calla was trying to create a lasting relationship, and that meant spending more time with him than she did with me.

I couldn’t bring myself to ever talk to the boy, I couldn’t bring myself to hang out with the two of them and I had always made excuses when Calla did try to arrange a meeting outside of a Tuesday. It was too hard, too soon, and I didn’t think I’d be able to watch them together and deal with the burning jealousy and self-hatred of it not being me she was with. So like the old days, I just avoided it all together, didn’t say what I truly wanted, and let the sadness slowly eat me alive.

When we graduated, not much changed. Calla and I stayed in the area, and happened to land jobs close to each other. We stayed in touch, I made sure of that, as much as it all hurt, I was still in love with her and I couldn’t bring myself to let her go. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea, to not let myself move on and to suffer in silence, but I loved her. I tried to tell myself that was enough of a reason.

We kept our tradition, and maybe that was what kept me going, keeping faith and the only comfort I had. We met each other every Tuesday during our lunch break at a small café. Every time I went to meet her, I’d find Calla sitting there, already looking at the menu. When she would see me, she’d flash me that smile and a warmth would crawl into my chest as much as I now wished it didn’t. I couldn’t stop myself from being happy to see her, and couldn’t stop the selfish want of having her always smiling when she saw me, like she’d always be happy to see me too.

Those Tuesdays, I remember to be bittersweet. In the lunch break we shared together, we’d tell about our jobs, how life had been kind or cruel to us in the days we now didn’t see each other in. Those Tuesday’s, I could let myself pretend that for a moment, it was us who were the ones together. I let myself believe that all the passers-by would think it was a date, or that we were a couple who’d always meet for lunch, that maybe we were in love. It was selfish, delusional, cruel on myself to think that, but I was desperate to hold onto anything I could grasp. Whether it was real or not. I told myself this was enough; to be with her like this was enough for me to be happy.

Those Tuesday’s I let myself imagine, until in the conversation Calla would bring him up. Then, like I had been doused in cold water, I was aware again. I was aware of the way her eyes shined and how her smile brightened when she mentioned him. She’d tell me stories of their times together, and though I smiled and nodded to act like I was listening, I couldn’t help but feel sick.

Those Tuesdays ended with a bitter taste in my mouth, and her smiling brightly. A promise to meet again next week, and though I couldn’t wait, a part of me wished that we wouldn’t meet again. Because as I watched her walk away, calling someone on the phone and watching her eyes shine and her smile brighten as she greeted them, I felt the emptiness swallow me whole again.

I’d walk back to work, numb and silent.

For the first time in a while, I saw her on a day other than a Tuesday. It was 2AM when she came, knocking on my door and tears staining her face. She looked up at me, shivering from the cold and I could see the brokenness in her eyes, the pain she didn’t bother to hide.

“I need you.” She whispered, voice cracking and sounding raw, like she had worn it out from sobs and yells. Immediately in my head I repeated the words right back, but I didn’t say them out loud. Instead I pulled her into a hug, and she broke down into tears as she hugged me back. We stayed still for a moment until she calmed down, and then I let her in.

I would always let her in, and whatever she asked for, whatever she needed, I would always do and give. I would never say no, and I didn’t want to say no. If this was all I could do by loving her, I would do it with silence and no hesitation.

I lead her to my living room where I helped her sit down on the couch, and got some blankets and her favorite tea for her. I stayed silent all the while, and let the silence fill the air as she calmed down enough to talk to me.

It took a while, for her to collect her thoughts and for my heart to stop hammering in my chest. I watched her and felt a new pain, it hurt to see her like this, and I only wished to take it all away, to bear it myself because I was already suffering, I didn’t have much to lose anymore. If it meant she could continue to smile and be happy, I would take it all away from her.

Finally Calla found the strength to speak. With shaky words she told me what was causing her trouble. She told me how she got into a fight with her boyfriend over him getting a great job offer from another city, and how he had wanted them to move together so he could accept it. She didn’t want to leave, she grew up in this area and her whole life was here. Every memory she had was here, and to leave it all was something she couldn’t see herself doing, something she didn’t want to do. But she also didn’t want to live without him either. She didn’t want to give up what she had already established with hopes of a future, and she had already begun to make a place she could call home. A place she had built with the hope that he’d be there with her. 

She was crying again, the tears slowly creeping up the longer she talked, until they started to fall again. While crying she turned to me, asked something I hadn’t heard since sophomore year.

“What is love?” She whispered, and this time it wasn’t happy and hopeful and curious. It was a broken, desperate question. It was like she had a puzzle with one piece missing that she couldn’t find. Like this answer would make everything better, would make her happy again, would tell her what to do. It was a bittersweet reminisce, because my answer was still the same, as much as I couldn’t say it, and as much as it hurt to know it.

“I think love can be many things. But sometimes love can be giving up your happiness for the sake of the one you love.” I answered, but deep down it wasn’t an answer for her. I was stating it for myself, trying to reassure myself as she sat there, heart in her hands as it bled from too many piled up cuts. How I wanted to hold her, hug her and give her the love she desperately needed. But I couldn’t, I didn’t have the right. It hurt, watching her become so small and broken. I couldn’t touch her now; it was a chance I couldn’t take. I feared she would somehow read my thoughts, read the silent words I would repeat over in my head every day until maybe one day I could say them out loud. The real answer to her question, ‘you, I love you’. I couldn’t say this out loud, but I was able to sit with her as she cried into my chest, giving her the support she needed in the form of gentle whispers of comfort. 

I wanted to fix her, but I didn’t truly know how when I myself wasn’t whole either. We were both broken, both hurting, both in a love that was causing us pain. So I did what I could do, the only thing I knew how to do, and I gave her a broken piece of myself, so maybe she could be a little more whole

I told myself, this was enough, and it would always be enough.

I’m not sure if I truly believed that anymore.

    _Love is sacrifice._

■■■■■■■■■■

Weddings were always supposed to be a happy event.

They were supposed to be a celebration, a claim of pure love and true happiness. For all to see the bride and groom were hopelessly in love and would be forever. Everyone is supposed to feel happy, feel the love and be overwhelmed with such emotion, they’d shed a tear for the couple who was having the happiest day of their life. 

I am not supposed to feel dead inside.

Over the years my smile had easily been molded, hardened like clay. It had been plastered to my face to hide all the bitter feelings. Now watching Calla, I felt the smile crack, slowly losing its shape and falling to reveal the emotions I had hid all too well over the years I had known her. 

Watching her say her vows, I can’t act, and I can’t bring myself to smile or to fake happiness. Not when I still wish that the person she was reciting them to was me, and not that boy who I haven’t seen in years. I bitterly wonder how things worked out between them. I remember the Tuesday Calla told me that she’d be moving with him for his new job. She thanked me for the advice I had given her that one early morning, and I couldn’t stop myself from feeling a touch of regret, selfishly wishing I never answered her at all. I remembered the day I got the wedding invitation, I didn’t feel the heartbreak I felt the first time I saw them, I only felt numb as I looked at it, and saved the date. I hadn’t even known they had gotten engaged.

The wedding ceremony ends, and throughout the cheers and happy tears, and the smiles I see on the couples face, I stand silently. I can’t bring myself to cheer, to smile, to laugh, I can’t even speak. Not when the numbness has taken over my body and I helplessly watch the couple walk out of the church, promises of forever on their lips, and the cold air on mine.

I don’t attend the recession, I don’t think I could stand watching them together, dancing or sitting and having the best day of their lives. Not when I feel like I’m having my worst.

But I know what I did feel watching them. I felt the end. I felt the cold bitter feeling of the end. No more could I tell myself I might have a chance one day, no more could I tell myself she might ever love me back. I can no longer convince myself that I can be happy by watching her. It’s the end, and I know it is.

It’s time to let dreams die, to face the cold reality. I know she’s happy and it isn’t with me, and it will never be. What I had felt was no longer enough, and I have become too greedy and in the end the sin tainted my soul. I had silently hoped for more, and the faithful wishing was all but an illusion I created to pretend that this all didn’t hurt. 

That what I felt now wasn’t death.

This was the cold emptiness of having your heart ripped out of your chest and having the sickening knowledge of that it was voluntary. I was the only one to blame. I was the only one to blame for my hopes, for my wishes, for my dreams, for my lies, for loving her unconditionally with the knowledge of it never going to be returned. It had been enough, for a long time. I can’t recall when it stopped and when I had become hollow, when the happiness had turned to sorrow. 

Looking now at the wedding photos, in the night, in my cold empty apartment that doesn’t feel like home, I start to burn them. All the wedding photos, one by one I throw them into the fireplace, watching the flames die into embers and the ashes float away in the wind along with my last silent desires. 

It was time to let them die; let them leave me along with her. Maybe then I could stop pretending and start believing that this was enough. It was a first step in a needed direction. It was time to move on, even if I had to do it alone. 

Maybe the new lie I could tell myself would be that this is worth it, that it will get better.

Maybe one day I will believe it’s true.

    _Love was you._

**Author's Note:**

> I feel my writing can improve, but I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
